


A Prelude to What Will Come

by Pendragons Dragonlord (PseudoAuthor)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Dementia, Gen, Immortal Merlin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoAuthor/pseuds/Pendragons%20Dragonlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last. - Juan Rulfo</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prelude to What Will Come

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how to define the relationship between Arthur and Merlin. I left it pretty open to interpretation so it could be anything from platonic love to pre-slash to slash. Please feel free to pick out a pair of goggles if you wish. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine, also, disclaimer - I don't own anything.  
> Warnings: no swearing (that's a first), there is a character death but it isn't a surprise given the context of this story.

 

> _A person who has not completely lost the memory of paradise, even though it is a faint one, will suffer endlessly. He will feel the call of the essential world, will hear the voice that comes from so far away that one cannot find out where it comes from, a voice that cannot guide him. - Eugene Ionesco_

He jerks himself awake.

The forest is silent around him; tree canopy hiding him in the shadows.

There’s a crack in the distance and he forces himself to calm. He waits for a few moments, relaxing his gaze as a deer bounds past the trees – brown darting between foliage and wood.

He feels tranquil until he remembers that he was dreaming. Turning onto his side on the sodden dirt beneath him, one hand is pressed into the earth, the other trapped under his own weight. He’s gasping for breath, air refusing to enter his lungs.

When he gets his breathing under control, he sits up moving his bag out from behind his back – his makeshift pillow – and draws it in, close to his chest; resting a cheek upon it.

The dream that he was chasing completely fades but one thing is for certain.

Camelot has been gone for more than two-hundred years.

It leaves him cold.

It steals the breath away from him all over again because he is still here.

He is still alive.

He should be able to remember because the dead don’t speak. Nor do the dead tell tales.

So will Camelot live on? Will _Arthur_ live on, even if he doesn’t remember?

A bird caws above him and he flinches. Slowly uncurling himself from around his bag he rubs a hand over his eyes.

He tries to recall Arthur’s voice.

The low tone when Arthur was sombre.

Arthur’s anger, harsh like the clash of swords, but always underscored by hurt because he always _felt_ more than he knew.

He tries to recall Arthur’s utter exasperation. Every day for ten years he heard _Merlin._ Or when Arthur was being particularly obnoxious? _Mer_ lin. It should be seared into his being like the brands that would’ve been seared into his skin had Uther been the one to catch him for sorcery.

But Uther didn’t.

And Arthur hadn’t either.

_“Mer-“_

He fights hard to catch it, the beginnings of his something wonderful. He tries to call forth his magic to gently cup the sound. To tentatively approach for fear of it running away and never coming back.

The voice was so close in his grasp but his magic must’ve snapped a twig because the rest of his name is not continued in Arthur’s voice but swallowed by his own.

He can’t forget.

But he does

 

_\- because memory is a fickle thing…_

 

He walks into the market square with an ache in his heart that threatens to grow. He hadn’t intended on coming here. Of course he tell himself that it was under the pretense if buying supplies but his supplies have never held this tenuous link.

And oh, what a tenuous link it is because he can smell _Arthur_ in the air.

He follows his nose further sidestepping carriages and people and…horse dung that makes a very valiant attempt at pushing out that sweet smell and invading his nostrils. His magic is being kind to him today because the whiffs of stink are fanned away from his being.

When he finally gets to the stall his eyes scan the goods and he picks out a small glass jar. He’s almost giddy as he brings it to his nose and sniffs. “What is that smell?” he asks her out of politeness.

The woman peers at him curiously and then smiles at him with yellow stained teeth.

“Honey and this here…” She holds up a sprig of purple, “…lavender my boy – would you like some?”

Gaius had used the honey for wounds and the cook had used both honey and lavender for sticky buns and cakes. Arthur used to smell of them both too. Lavender because of his bath; honey because - as he’d drunkenly confessed one night into Merlin’s shoulder post-banquet: _“I imagine mother smelled like this; it makes me feel like she’s around…”_

“How much for two pots and that bundle?” His fingers itch at the little money pouch in his pocket.

She surveys him, eyes sharp and calculating trying to figure out how much she can get from him. The desperation must read easy on his face because she gives him a solemn look. “Forty p.”

She’s ripping him off. They both know it and he understands why if the tiny child sleeping behind her is any indication. She’s got every right to take him for all he has.

His pouch contains seventy, but he hands the whole thing over too desperate to take his wares and not heartless enough to wish them better. She doesn’t let him leave though. It’s only when she finishes counting that she frowns and hands over another bundle of lavender. “Be off with you.”

He takes it and runs.

It’s a small victory against the widening gaps in his mind. But a victory nonetheless.

 

_… it doesn’t care whether it was the best or worst time of your life..._

 

 _Touch starved._ That’s what his mind terms it. It’s why his magic trying valiantly to compensate for it – tendrils of heat ghosting over his skin that could be mistaken for human contact emanating out of the hearth that he sits in front of.

It’s his own house – one that he built from his own hands. It’s one that he refused to be helped along by magic – a tangible piece of his self.

The house is filled with textures. Rough pieces of timber that had left his hands bloody and stinging line some of the walls; rendered concrete line the others. Slate stones surround the fireplace. Throws and indulgent fluffy pillows cover smooth surfaces.

He longs for the brash cocksure throw of an arm around his shoulder, the heavy weight of Arthur pressed against his side after one to many cups of wine and of the sting of a slap across the back of his head. Well maybe not so much that last one.

An alarm blares from his bedroom – his six AM wake-up call that has come about three hours too late. Without even waving a hand the ringing stops and he scoots closer to the fire.

His magic starts pushing at his body, small prods to the back of his shoulders – to remind him…

He sighs wishing it away because it’s not the same.

 

_…and it doesn’t care if it was the person you loathed to hell or back, or loved to the ends of the earth…_

The car blare horns loudly and he starts, turns and flips off the young man behind the wheel.

The man scowls speeding off into the distance once he’s cleared the pedestrian crossing.

He walks back to his house with his to bags of groceries in hand. He cooks himself dinner, surprisingly proficient in the kitchen and curls up in his arm chair.

He dreams of Camelot…of his mother, of Gwen, of Morgana…

He dreams of Camelot, and of running through the corridors jumping over people tending to their business.

He dreams of Camelot and of running though double doors that lead him to blond hair…a square jaw…blu- no, no they were definitely green…green eyes…no blue…

It’s enough drag him away from the stone walls of the castle, away from Camelot, away from Arthur. His eyes open; magic flaring to bring the hearth back to life. The light dances across the floor, folding around the shape of his dinner and broken glassware.

But that’s not what’s important.

He rubs his eyes with the palm of his blanket covered hand.

Were Arthur’s eyes blue or green?

 

_…If it decides to change something, to alter a small seemingly insignificant little detail – would you know?_

* * *

 

> _Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last. - Juan Rulfo_

Late 2004 – Early 2007

He looks up at the sign and steps back surveying the place. In his hands a newspaper with job ads ringed in red is tightly clutched between sweating palm.

 _Come on, walk inside. This isn’t the first job you’ve had,_ he tells himself.

Luke’s Landscaping is emblazoned in red and white letters with the dot of the ‘I’ in the shape of a tulip. Finally, he peaks through the door of the greenhouse and spots a figure with a shock of blonde hair crouched to the floor.

Hesitantly he goes up to the person – the woman, with short spiky hair dressed in boots, green trousers and a black singlet.

“Um…hey, I’m looking for Luke?” He bats away the fern that’s assaulting his face making no moves to actually move away from it. The woman looks up at him and dusts her palms against her green trousers leaving trails of soil staining the material.

“He should be in the office. Can I help you with something?” She turns her attention back to the tray of lilies.

“Just answering a job ad,” he replies.

She looks up and winks. “You’ll do nicely. We’ll get you outside and tanned in no time. We’ll get a whole flock of new customers with you around.”

It takes a second for him to process the words and he can’t help but be flustered. It’s like being a teenager all over again. He can feel himself flush and looks down.

The woman laughs. “Aww, honey. Don’t mind me. I’m just teasing you-“

“Jennie, are you scaring off potential fresh blood.”

Jennie smirks and looks over her shoulder to the man striding up to them. He’s large, dressed in red flannel that reminds him of a lumberjack. He’s intimidating though, the handlebar moustache could probably do it alone.

“If I haven’t then, you certainly have now.” She sends over another wink in his direction and he finds himself grinning back. “Hire him now.” Assuming this is the eponymous Luke, he smiles hoping that it makes him look at least a little bit employable.

“I haven’t even seen his resume!”

At this he fumbles with his bag and produces said resume with a flourish that is practically him waving his rediscovered youth around. The man takes a glance at it and then shrugs handing it back. “Okay. When can you start?”

He blinks at the Luke’s outstretched hand which is slightly crumpling his resume. The hand waves a bit and he takes the document putting it back into its plastic sleeve. “You didn’t even read it.”

“Jacob Lister, age late twenty-ish, went to school at something or other. Odd jobs, and previous experience in a flower shop.” The man ignores Jennie’s clearly displayed glee. “You’re hired.”

“Is he being serious?” He says looking at Jennie who stands up and hugs him quickly.

“Welcome to the family! Luke’s gonna get you trained up and then we’ll be out there beautifying the world in no time.” She says all of this with her hands waving around haphazardly and he tries not to laugh. Youth.

Just as Jennie said Luke trains him up in the span of two months. It’s not easy – appearances are deceptive. He finds himself climbing into bed with muscles sore, nails gritty with soil, smelling like sweat and dirt and only if he’s lucky, the scent of flowers which makes him feel a little less guilty about catching the bus.

Aside from that, he finds it soothing.

He likes reconnecting with the earth. The flowers are beautiful with delicate blooms and vibrant colours. Velvety textures caress the skin of his fingers and soon enough he finds himself going into work when he’s not even scheduled to make an appearance.

“I could leave?” He had said once already pulling off his gloves as Luke just stared down at him. He felt like a child pleading for _‘just five more minutes?’_ Luke crossed his tree trunk arms, uncrossed them and walked away only to return later with a bottle of beer and a portable radio for him to listen to.

Now, Luke mutters about having to start paying him overtime when he’s caught tending to the begonias on one of his afternoons off.

**...**

“We have a job.” That’s how he’s greeted Thursday morning. Luke comes down the stairs of his office and rallies his troops around. “It’s a residential care facility. I’m doing this as a favour so this is unpaid work.” A murmur breaks out amongst the group. “If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’m not going to fire you. I understand if you’re not interested.” Finishing his spiel he walks back up the stairs.

He follows Luke tapping on the door and waiting for his admittance.

“Lister?” Luke shuffles order forms and squints trying to read someone’s scrawl. “Don’t they teach you kids’ legibility at school?” Expectantly he hands the sheet to him and he looks. The scratch is difficult, all thin strokes that overlap each other.

“I have no idea. Sorry,” he says putting it down on the desk. Luke grumbles. “I wanted to ask if I could work the facility job?”

“You aren’t getting paid.”

“I don’t care.”

Luke opens a word document and types, what he presumes to be his name. “You’re a good kid Jacob – should be more of your sort around.”

**...**

Later in the month when they begin the facility job with a good half of the general crew Luke’s puts him to work under the big bay windows. The windows let him see into what he assumes is the front foyer, reception and day lounge.

There are only a few people in there. A lady with big blue glasses and violet and pink hair sits near the fireplace; a book curled in her gnarled hands. Two men are playing checkers; another is sitting near them; eyes fixed on the knitting needles held in his hands and looking helpless as his companion, a woman with bright red lipstick and glasses perched on the end of her nose, manages three lines before he’s managed a stitch.

As he’s prepping the soil for _Crategus monogyna,_ orhawthorn, as he explains one the residents who is wheeled past him, Jennie comes up to him. “Hey Jacob?”

“Yes Jennie?” He adds a little more potting mixture and folds it into the dirt. The sun is hot; he can feel sweat collecting in the small of his back.

She drops next to him and begins to free the plants from their pots and covers. “Do you know anyone here?”

He shakes his head. “No, why?” he says pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. He looks up and sees a new occupant in the window. One staring right at him. It’s an old man in a blue polo shirt and tan slacks. The man waves at him frantically and says something but the windows are too thick for the sound to penetrate through the glass. His blue eyes are wide and beseeching and he makes a move that indicates _come here_.

Jennie looks just as unsure. “Maybe you should go and see what he wants? Jacob, are you okay?”

Looking at the man he feels a bit off kilter. The man runs his hand through grey hair that has a tinge of darkness about it… _his hair must’ve been dark,_ his mind supplies.

“Um…okay, be back in a tic.” He hoists himself up and walks to the front door, stamps his feet to stop himself from bringing any muck inside and enters. It takes him only a minute to find the old man. “Hello, sir.”

The man looks at him completely slack-jawed. He hobbles forward with the use of his cane. In the man’s haste, the cane hits a table leg and stutters his movement causing him to pitch a little forward.

His steady arms catch the man and he holds him gently until he manages to right himself.

“You’re exactly the same.” The man’s words are said with awe.

“I’m…I’m sorry-“ his brain is working in overdrive as he begins to stutter out something…trying to figure out, understand, not completely panic; because what he’s seeing before him is monumental and life changing and so very _cruel_.

It’s a said in an exhale of breath. A little raspy, lower in tone, weakened with age but it’s _him_ … “Merlin-“

It takes everything he has in himself not to fall to the floor and weep for fear of dragging the man down with him. “Oh my god-“

Except it’s not just a man.

“It’s me…Arthur.”

He stares at Arthur seeing traces of his youth shining through. The crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, he sightly crooked teeth, incisors; still sharp and pointy, vibrant _blue_ eyes. He feels the bubble of laughter rise in his chest before he can stop it. “Arthur,” he whispers, voice coloured with just as much awe as Arthur’s.

Arthur grins at him. “I knew it was you…as soon as I saw you. I just knew.”

The moment is interrupted when a nurse hesitantly stops beside them. “I’m sorry to interrupt but how do you and Arthur know each other?”

He turns to look at Arthur who is still staring at him, but the joy that was present only moments before has vanished in favour of a blank fearful stare.

“Arthur?” The smile vanishes from his face and he draws back a little, hands still on Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur tries to shake him off eyes spitting with anger that only conceals his fear.

The nurse frowns sadly and ushers Merlin back a little.

The other occupants of the room continue on not paying any attention to the commotion that occurring only a short distance away from them.

“What’s going on? Arthur?” He says stepping forward against the nurse’s arm that braces him back.

Arthur spins around shakily before turning back at looking at him with accusing eyes. “Who are you? Why are you holding me? Someone! Help me! I’m being attacked!” A red flush of exertion is traveling up his neck and he pants a little. Two more nurses come appear; one gently trying to calm Arthur down and move him to the couch whilst the other prepares something in an injection.

“No one’s attacking you!” Merlin catches sight of the needle and struggles again against the nurse. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him!” His shouting only serves to make Arthur agitated. The nurse holding drags him out into the corridor with a surprising amount of strength and he finds he has no choice but to submit as Arthur’s struggling face vanishes behind a wall.

“Listen to me, sir…sir!” she snaps briskly. “Who is he to you?”

His thinking falters for a second. “I-what?” _Lie. Lie. Lie._ “I knew him when I was young. I haven’t seen him in years.”

She nods and tugs him a little further away by the elbow quickly releasing him when he lets out a snarl. “Does he have any family?”

He just said that he hadn’t seen him in years, how the hell is he supposed to know that? He glares at the nurse, fists clenched tightly by his sides. “Not that I’m aware of. What’s wrong with him?”

She stares at him, biting her lip. Quietly she says, “He was brought here about six years ago after he was found circling the Glastonbury Tor.”

Merlin snorts. “Lots of people go up there.”

“He was taken to hospital, agitated; he couldn’t tell us anything, where he lived, what year it was. Tests were conducted and he, I’m sorry…”

He must’ve shut down because the last thing he remembers is Jennie’s arms around his shoulders pushing him in the direction of the truck. Luke’s sympathetic gaze as he handed her the keys and a gruff order to take a few days off.

**...**

He comes back the next day dressed casually. He’s not here to work, he’s here for Arthur.

A nurse with dark curly hair gestures to the day lounge.

Arthur is sitting there, face pressed to the glass like yesterday waving to an unmoving outside. He frowns after a few moments hand dropping to sit in his lap before he brightens again, hand up again to wave at the outside.

Merlin’s magic instinctively reaches out wrapping around Arthur who pauses mid-wave. His hand drops again and he pulls his cardigan closer around him. Weakened fingers fight to manoeuvre wooden buttons through their holes.

“Are you okay?” Merlin says softly. He stands there letting Arthur blink up at him still spooked from what happened yesterday.

Mouth dropping open, Arthur launches to his feet immediately. “You can do buttons!” He looks completely thrilled.

“I’ve been known to manage one or two in my lifetime,” Merlin jokes hands already moving up to the soft material.

“Damn hands don’t allow me to do much,” Arthur mutters looking down.

Merlin’s fingers work nimbly working from the bottom up, as he gets does the last button at the neck, he fixes the collar and brushes of specks of lint. It’s muscle memory, even after all these years; smoothing the planes of Arthur’s shoulders, checking the cuffs so they’re done right, seeing if Arthur looks good. “All done.”

Arthur blinks and sits down again. “Thank you.” He turns to the window leaving Merlin standing their awkwardly but too afraid to move. Arthur raises a hand and waves at the window. He frowns and puts it down in his lap. He looks up and waves at the window again. And again the hand drops into his lap. He then stands; face down muttering before looking up and blinking in surprise. “You can do buttons?”

“I already did your buttons.” Merlin looks down at the cardigan. Arthur shakes his head. “Arthur, look.”

Arthur does and lets out a soft exhale of breath. “My buttons are done.”

“Yes they are.”

“Did you do them?” Arthur asks; his face pinched with confusion as his fingers shakily pluck at the small disks.

Merlin nods. “I did. Do you know who I am?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Have we met before?”

“I’m Merlin.”

“Like the wizard?”

“Yeah Arthur,” Merlin says sadly motioning for Arthur to sit down. Arthur does, body immediately turning to face the window. Merlin sits too, a little distance away watching Arthur’s face change into a blank mask as he stares out of the window and holds his hand up. Merlin watches the window as Arthur’s reflection waves back at them. “Like the wizard.”

**...**

“How’s he going?” Luke taps at his computer eyes squinting at an order form

Merlin shrugs reluctant to let someone know about Arthur’s struggles. “Same as he has been every other time I’ve gone to see him.”

Luke pauses his two finger typing. “Came as a shock to you. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

Merlin smiles at the guilty brown eyes watching him. “Lucky coincidence, it was nothing more – don’t apologise. I should be thanking you.”

“Can you read this? I need to find that damn scribbler and tell him to go back to school.”

He arches an eyebrow that would make Gaius proud. “And how do you know it’s a guy.”

Luke stares back in disbelief. “Come on lad.” The form is thrust out towards Merlin who glances down and winces. “See?” The fax machine behind look whirrs to life.

When Luke turns his back Merlin runs magic through the page trying to decipher the code. The writing parts for a second before clamming up seemingly messier than before. It appears that even this is too much for his magic to handle.

He doesn’t try to push it. “Sorry, no idea.”

The faxes are dropped in the desk drawer. “I’m gonna have to test our writing skills if this keeps up.”

“I’d leave Jennie out then,” Merlin says thinking to how indignant she’d be at Luke even asking her to take one.

Luke’s eyes grow wide probably imagining the telling off he’d receive. “Good point.”

**...**

Arthur, Merlin finds, has a strange preoccupation with _The Notebook._ Well, he supposes it isn’t exactly strange considering…but he really doesn’t feel the need to watch it unlike Arthur.

The first time Arthur insists, he puts it on and leaves. Not that it really matters because Arthur doesn’t get past the first scene before he’s snoring softly into his pillow.

**...**

Violet greets him at the reception desk. “How goes it today Jacob?” The raven haired woman lifts her green-eyed gaze from the computer screen and waits expectantly for an answer.

“The day goes well,” he returns. “How’s Arthur?” His fingers grip the edge of the desk tightly as if he’s hanging onto the edge for dear life.

“He had a good morning but tired quickly. He’s in his room sleeping last I checked. Maybe see if he’s willing to be woken and spend some time outdoors.” He’s sent off by the tilt of her head.

Winding down the corridor he finally reaches Arthur’s room. It’s pale blue with slightly peeling paint where the ceiling meets the walls. There’s a desk and chair, a bed, a cupboard and a shelving unit that holds Arthur’s various knickknacks.

“Arthur?” He whispers closing the door behind him. He doesn’t need to be walked in on for what he’s about to do.

Almost tiptoeing to Arthur’s bedside Merlin gently places a hand on Arthur’s head and brushes the greying fringe away from his face.

Arthur had told him that in his younger days, his hair was slightly darker than what it was in Camelot. When he pulled out pictures Merlin had struggled to bite back a laugh.

_“Arthur, it’s only a few shades lighter than mine!”_

_Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “As I said Merlin. Slightly darker than that of Camelot.”_

With the last strand carefully moved and fringe brushed away Merlin bows his head and mutters under his breath. First attempts of a memory spell hadn’t been effective. This time he calls on more of his magic and tries to draw energy from the earth in hopes of finding something powerful enough to restore Arthur’s diminishing memories.

When nothing happens he sighs moving his hands to Arthur’s heart and tries again. He instructs his magic to get blood to pump harder, oxygen to flow faster, cells to regenerate quicker all in hopes of stopping the unstoppable train that had decided to head straight in Arthur’s direction.

“What are you doing?” Merlin looks up, his blue eyes clashing with Arthur’s and jumps guiltily praying that Arthur won’t yell for the nurse.

“I-sorry, sir…I was just checking on you. I’m just leaving now…so, everything seems, fine and uh…”His hands dither over the bed, and some papers that lie on Arthur’s bedside table. Quickly he backs away. Arthur’s looking at him, his shoulders beginning to shake a little. It’s just a little quiver that hastens Merlin’s retreat.

He’s almost to the door when he hears: “ _Mer_ lin…”

That exasperatedly _fond_ tone of voice stops him short. He turns around only to see Arthur hack out a laugh and sit up with only a little struggle. “You remember me?”

“Seems like it. “

“You knew it was me all along?” He finds himself struggling to not be indignant at Arthur’s prank.

Arthur tuts and rolls his eyes. “Oh don’t pout Merlin, it’s not becoming of you.” He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs his glasses putting them on quickly. “You were casting spells on me. I’m entitled to scare you silly.” Arthur pats the bed and then glares at Merlin when he doesn’t move fast enough. “And I’m the one with the hip replacement,” he mutters.

Merlin opens his mouth to retort but just closes the door and makes his way over to Arthur’s bed sitting at the end of the bed on the tangled sheets. “Oh shut it.”

“So _Mer_ lin, what were you doing?” He asks as if he has no idea, eyes curious and assessing.

Merlin cocks his brow up. “What do you think I was doing?”

Arthur continues to meet his gaze heavily and Merlin wonders if Arthur really knows. “You were trying to save me.”

And of course Arthur does. “Arthur, I-“

“No denying it.”

The world would burn before Merlin stopped trying. “I wasn’t going to…I still have my magic. There has to be something that I haven’t thought of. There could be a spell that could cure you.”

Arthur twists a little and straightens his spine groaning as his bones wearily creak back into position – Merlin notes to slip a little magic over the area just in case. “I don’t want you to cure me – no point.”

“Why not?” Merlin splutters. “Of course there’s a point! So that you’ll remember your family, you’ll be able to go home and look after yourself…what type of question is that? Since when do you admit defeat so easily?”

“Merlin-“

“The Arthur I know-“

“Merlin, fine there’s the point!” Arthur shouts quelling his threatening tide of anger. Quieter now, Arthur looks down at his hands, skin wrinkled, fingers slightly gnarled with the beginnings of arthritis. “I am not the same person who ruled Camelot. I remember it, I remember you, but I’m not him. I don’t have his scars or his broken bones. His story and mine are two very different things.”

Merlin’s magic instinctively reaches out to touch Arthur but he holds it back, heart wounded not just for himself but for Arthur who talks as if he part of himself had died which in a horribly twisted way - Merlin bites his lip – is true. “But Arthur-“

“I had a wife, I have a daughter has refuses to speak to me,” Arthur waves away his oncoming question. “I don’t have any more family. My father was a soldier in the WWII. My mother was a baker. I drove a car, I owned a store…I never did anything dangerous or brave…Merlin; I have never picked up a sword in this life.” Arthur stares at him. “I’ve made enough memories Merlin.”

Maybe it’s anger. Or maybe after all these _years_ of waiting for Arthur, it’s selfishness on his part. Maybe over centuries he figures that he’s owed something because gods knows that this is a greater punishment than death.

He’s barely _coping._

Merlin can’t say anything but flee hoping that the next time he comes, Arthur won’t remember him at all.

**...**

Clarissa, one of the day nurses who’s awfully fond of Arthur and probably sees him like a grandfather sees it fit to tell Merlin that Arthur’s watched _The Notebook_ four times in a row now.

He isn’t sure what to do with this information.

She tells him that Arthur mumbles sometimes, not a lot of words, just one or two every few exhales of breath.

“What words?” he asks.

Arthur wanders past the corridor, not sparing a glance in their direction. “A lot of the times I catch ‘Merlin’.”

**...**

“He’s watching you.”

Luke puts down shovels and begins to untie the coverings of another box hedge.

“Who is?” Merlin asks as if he doesn’t know, but he does. He can feel Arthur’s eyes burn into him. He knows Arthur’s watching him even if Arthur doesn’t remember why he stands in front of the window day after day.

It’s stupid for him to be angry. As soon as the thought had left Merlin’s mind that day at the foot of Arthur’s bed he wished he could take it back. He had hoped that the blood rushing through his ears would drown out the soft, ‘I’m sorry Merlin’ that sounded like it was said through a bullhorn as he closed the door to Arthur’s room.

“It’s sad isn’t it, forgetting your life,” Luke murmurs, eyes still watching the window and its sole occupant. “What do you think he thinks about? Do you think they flashback to their life or do you think they just…I don’t know…” he trails off raising a hand. Merlin looks just as Arthur raises a hand back. Luke turns away but Merlin watches, eyes glued to the window as Arthur stiltedly puts his hand back down before ambling away.

Arthur hasn’t remembered Merlin – if he did, he would’ve demanded they talk.

Merlin had thought as he walked away that he’d be relieved that Arthur didn’t remember him – now he’s anything but.

Viciously, Merlin pulls out a weed and through clenched teeth responds, “I don’t know.”

**...**

Jennie needles him to go out with her and some of her friends. And he does only after weeks of poking, Luke’s gruff order to and begging from the other staff. Turns out when Jennie wants something she gets everyone on board to want it too.

She takes him to a pub on a Friday night and immediately scoots over to a booth filled with people who greet her enthusiastically. She introduces them one by one, Michael, Soo-Kim, Chester and Dione.

He nods at them all, and sits suddenly regretting his decision. He feels out of place and again reminds himself that he’s only temporarily joining their world.

The pub is nosy and the friends talk animatedly. Chester and Dione apparently work together as librarians. Michael is a dentist and Soo-Kim is a trapeze artist and children’s illustrator on the side.

And then inevitably it comes around to him.

“So Jacob, you work with Jennie now, but before that?” Dione asks tapping a finger on the glass in front of her.

A snort comes from Michael. “Dee, c’mon, what you really want to know is whether he has a girlfriend. Or boyfriend,” he adds taking another glance at Merlin.

Jennie bangs her head on the table before glaring. “He will answer no such questions you creepy, creepy people.”

He smiles at her squeezing her forearm. In this light she reminds him of Gwen.

“You really don’t have to.”

“It’s okay. I know you want to know too.” She doesn’t try to deny it.

So he tells them the truth. Slightly altered, a little vague but it’s the truth.

“Before I started working here I drifted. A long time ago, I was sent to live with my uncle because my mother wanted me to know more than our little corner of the world. My uncle lived near a rich family and they needed servants.”

At Dione’s curious expression he tilts his head. “Old money gets you anything.”

“Eventually I was employed to help the son. He was…a prat.” The group chuckles. “But…you know how it goes. Work with someone long enough they start to grow on you…” He swirls his glass staring at the amber liquid and feels his eyes start to water. “He hated me too. Mutual dislike…but we grew up. He was brave…headstrong…actually he was quite neat.” He feels the corners of his mouth twitch as his voice falters – he’d forgotten about this, “He only got messy when he was distracted…or annoyed with me.”

“He sounds pretty great.” Jennie says taking a sip.

“He was, for the most part…I mean, he sometimes threw things at me. Once I had to go in and wake him up and he had this…” His memory clouds over hiding the object that Arthur had taken in hand. Goblet? Gauntlet? Plate? “…I forget…but it was metal. And…and he threw it at me and…next thing I remember was him standing kneeling over me with a rag pressed to the side of my face. Turns out he clipped me in the temple and I just dropped.”

_Merlin! Merlin, can you hear me? I’m sorry...Merlin…please, get up…Merlin you need to get up…open your eyes for me…Merlin…You idiot – I thought I taught you how to duck…_

“Sweetie, you’re crying,” Jennie says softly. She hands him a tissue and he internally cringes at the silence he’s created. “Crap…sorry, I-“

“-loved him,” Michael stares at him with brown gentle eyes.

“I…we never...it wasn’t like that, we were friends.” Merlin stutters.

Michael nods his head. “Friends can love each other,” he says. “You don’t need sex to be in love.”

Merlin bristles because he’s well aware of that. Jennie hand slips into his. “Sorry…it’s just…”

“Weird to say it out loud as a guy!” Chester says in a tone that expects agreement. “C’mon am I right? I’m right aren’t I? How often have you heard guys go, ‘I love you – no homo’?” He looks at them earnestly. Dione tells him he’s got a point, and then tells him to shut up.

“Jacob, what happened to him?”

He thinks back to Camlann. Tries to stem the shake of his hand, stop the rage that his magic threatens to unleash thinking about how he had foolishly let Mordred back into their lives instead of heeding the dragons warning. Jennie’s hands cover his. And he holds it. Tightly – in an effort to anchor himself to the now and not to the past. “He died - stabbed…I was with him when it happened.”

Chester and Soo-Kim let out a gasp.

“After that…I just…I couldn’t stay there anymore, so I moved.”

“Oh Jacob,” Jennie says, “I’m so sorry.” They others share the sentiment and Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Gods, this is a perfect first impression of me yeah?” he manages weakly.

Jennie just tells him that she still loves him regardless and everyone but Chester nods their head.

Instead, Chester looks him straight in the eyes. “Well, I love you.”

The group let out a groan.

Solemnly, Merlin looks back. “It’s a little fast,” he says unable to stop the smile showing on his face. Jennie pokes his side. “Love you too.” Chester grins triumphantly.

Maybe this little group will be a little more than just a transient flash of faces.

**...**

“Merlin will you please sit and watch with me?”

 _I don’t want to._ Merlin glares at the screen already displaying the title movie’s title card. “I should get going.”

“You have the day off. You said that when you walked in. It’s just a movie.”

“I know that!” he snaps. Unconsciously he begins to pace across the length of the room muttering to himself angrily. He doesn’t actually find the film offensive it’s just- “It’s a romantically driven piece of drivel that doesn’t even begin scratch the surface of what you’re dealing with. It’s an affront to you and I don’t understand why you torture yourself with it.” He stops midstride shooting a look in Arthur’s direction and meeting wide eyes and an open mouth that struggles to shut.

“Merlin, what do you see when you watch it?”

He splutters. “Arthur, I already told you what I see-“

Arthur quickly shakes his head. “Fine, amended question – how do you _feel_ when you watch it?”

At this Merlin faces the window and sags against its frame. The flowers are open – a vast sea of red rolling across the ground. For a moment his mind flashes back to the blood-soaked field of Camlann and he shudders.

“Merlin?”

Right, Arthur. The movie.

“I know it’s just a movie,” he states as his knuckles curl loosely against the edge of the frame. “I’m not an idiot Arthur…I know that it’s all about that power of love stuff…it’s just…I feel…” his voice trails off and he turns a little to face Arthur who’s assessing him with curious eyes. “I feel lied to.”

“No one’s lying to you though.”

He gives a mirthless laugh. “Oh but they are. It’s a happy ending, Arthur. He brings her back and they die together.” He raises his head and turns to fully face Arthur with unshed tears threatening to spill over. “Arthur, why do you go where I can’t follow?”

**...**

The day is slightly overcast. No wind, but there’s a crisp chill to the air as they pack up the trucks and make their way to the center.

“Are you going to spend some time with Arthur?” Jennie asks indicating left into the drive way. She’s been asking him to come out with her more. To spend time with her friends originally felt like a task despite the easy back and forth between them at the pub, but he’s learning to enjoy it. They’re all a little strange, each with little quirks that remind him of those he lost in Camelot.

Soo-Kim is quiet like Freya, Dione is fiery like Morgana.

Chester is boisterous and foolhardy like Gwaine, whereas Michael embodies the calm and keen observation skills of Lancelot. He’s tried feeling around, not exactly prodding their minds, but just trying to subtly hint at the possibility of living a past life. In Camelot…with him.

His magic always snaps back at him though, like a mother whacking a child’s outreaching hand with the back of a wooden spoon. _Do not try, do not attempt, they aren’t ready yet._ But Michael and Chester don’t look like Gwaine and Lancelot and it’s become clear that they are brand new souls in brand new beings.

Merlin catches her eye for a second. “I might go in and say hi, but…work today.”

“Luke wouldn’t mind.”

“And that’s why I have to work.”

She smiles at him and jumps out immediately beginning to pull out equipment from the bed of the truck.

Merlin makes his way to the front desk spotting Eric filling out forms and trying to coax Mrs Turner to eat her breakfast at the table. “Alright Jakey?” he greets with a nod and a push of his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Eric is older than most of the staff but is probably the most well-loved member present. Even with a fantastic personality, it’s a bit disconcerting to him as Eric looks an awful lot like Uther.

It’s not. He’s checked.

“Is Arthur alright today?”

“Decided to sit outside with some of the others. They’re in the back watching a school choir sing.”

He makes his way outside immediately spotting Arthur tucked in neatly into his chair. A bright orange scarf is wrapped around his neck with an equally ghastly coloured beanie atop of his head. Merlin actually cringes _for_ Arthur – and that says a lot considering the horrendously feathered monstrosity Arthur had thrust upon him back in Camelot.

Gravel crunches beneath his shoes as he finally stops reaching Arthur’s side. “Hello Arthur, my name is Merlin,” he says testing the waters.

Arthur looks up and smiles. “Like the wizard?”

A little part of him sighs; good mood vanishing, but he outwardly smiles. “Yes Arthur like the wizard. Are you enjoying the singing?”

A note is hit off-key and Arthur winces. “Not particularly…can we go for a walk?”

“Only if you want.”

“I do.”

“Okay, we can walk by and see some of the landscapers.” He doesn’t offer to help Arthur out of the chair but he does wordlessly lend his arm for extra support which Arthur takes as he tries to maintain his balance. Slowly they make their way to Merlin’s group.

Arthur hums contentedly as he watches a bench being put into place. “They’re doing a remarkable job…there are flowers outside my window. I like the colour.”

Merlin blushes thinking to the vibrant red tulips that line up outside most of Arthur’s window and how he’d convince Luke to put them in instead of the blue peonies.

“You’re a landscaper too.”

“That’s right. I had a bit of time so I thought I would come visit you.”

“That’s kind of you. I don’t get to see many people.”

“I’ll try and visit your more.”

Arthur beams at him but then the expression makes way for one more grave. “You’re a young lad – you should be out meeting people, do you have a girlfriend…or boyfriend?” Arthur points to his nose and then to Merlin with a wink. “It’s no skin of my nose when it comes to who likes who.”

“Glad to hear it. No I don’t have someone but I’m not all that interested in finding one. Oh look there’s Luke, let’s talk to him.” He valiantly tries to not hurry Arthur along as he sees his boss.

“Jacob, nice of you to come for a visit, you interested in working today?”

“Not really,” he replies with a wink in Arthur’s direction. Arthur smiles knowingly. “Luke, this is Arthur. I saved him from singing children.”

**...**

Arthur eventually wears him down and they sit together on his bed to watch that godforsaken film.

“You’re story’s already been told,” Merlin points out as Noah and Allie are screaming at each other for what seems like the third time in ten minutes.

Popcorn is pushed into Arthur’s mouth and thoughtfully chewed. “I don’t know whose story that is because it sure isn’t mine. What was Geoffrey thinking? Why didn’t you correct him? Was Gwen okay with him slandering her name like that?”

“His writings were found after he’d died-”

Arthur barrels on over Merlin. “And you! People associate you with that mad-hatter Dragoon.”

“Arthur…I was that ‘mad-hatter’ Dragoon.”

Arthur blinks.

“But you…I broke a pot in his house.”

“That house was abandoned. I procured it for my own purposes.”

“You kicked me!”

“I wasn’t going to let an opportunity like that go by!”

“Okay so if that was correct what about everything else…you being imprisoned by Morgana in a tree…Gwen and Lancelot running off together – why did that all get through?”

“I wasn’t there to edit his writing.”

“Really? Where were you?” Arthur lets out a longsuffering sigh as if he’s being especially trying. “Oh gods, please tell me you didn’t spend all your time in the tavern?” Merlin flinches and barely restrains himself for cursing Gaius for using that excuse. Having Arthur believe that he was shirking his duties never sat well with him.

“Ealdor.”

Arthur hesitates as he asks, “How long after I…did you leave Camelot?”

He shrugs. “About a week and a half.”

“Less than two weeks? Merlin! You left, Gwen and Gaius…and the knights!”

Getting angry, Merlin presses pause on the remote. “Gwen repealed the ban and had Gaius to advise her. The knights were put under Leon’s control. Gwaine died _. You_ died _._ ”

“But Camelot-“

“Excuse me for not having the same loyalty to Camelot that I had to you.”

“Camelot was your priority!”

“You were my priority! I was prophesised to help you. I was your _tool_ ,” he spits out the word violently, _“_ that you had to use to create Albion and I failed.” He gets off the bed. “I should leave. It’s late and you need to sleep.”

Arthur doesn’t try to stop him nor does he point out that the sun is still shining and that it’s only four in the afternoon.

**...**

“I saw you once, well twice actually.”

Merlin’s neck whips up quickly because that’s not possible is it? He’s never seen Arthur around, never felt his presence close by.

His magic didn’t alert him and as far as he’s concerned, that’s tantamount to betrayal.

“When? No, better question: why didn’t you say anything?”

Arthur looks at him unimpressed and pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “You were on the other side of the street.”

Like that explains everything.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I was coming out of hospital.” Before Merlin can splutter out more questions Arthur continues, “I had a hip replacement. I couldn’t run to you, now could I?”

Merlin looks down, shamed and scared that Arthur is so _mortal_ whilst he is not. “Suppose not,” he murmurs.

Arthur reaches over and touches his hand. “It’s not like I didn’t try though.” Merlin looks up. “Seriously. I saw you and I got out of my chair like I was twenty years old again. Of course the nurse thought I was having a heart attack…”

He looks so put out that Merlin can’t help but chuckle. Arthur smiles and pats his hand once more before leaning back in his armchair.

“Merlin? I’m tired.”

Merlin stands up and helps Arthur stand too.

Clarissa immediately hovers close.

“Just helping him back to his room.” Together they walk slowly to Arthur’s room and once he’s situated in bed Merlin can’t help but ask. “Are you sure you can’t stay awake a little longer?” He hates that he’s pleading. He knows that it’s hard, that maybe he’s asking just a little too much but there isn’t enough time.

Arthur frowns, his fingers find the edge of his quilt and he skims a hand over it. He swallows thickly and holds hand out. Merlin shuffles forwards sinking into the chair at the edge of the bed and resting his head on his arms. Arthur’s fingers find his hair and begin to fiddle. Merlin watches his eyes close. “Merlin, you have no idea how much I want to.”

It’s a swift punch to the gut, knowing that Arthur wants this just as much as he does. They’ve found each other too late, life imitating a brush of arms as strangers pass by.

“You’ll be gone.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, his hand going lax on Merlin’s head.

**...**

“You don’t have to keep coming to see me.”

Merlin favours Arthur with a look in which he hopes to convey the stupidity of that statement.

Arthur flicks the channel on the TV turning his gaze to Merlin. “You should be out…having a life.”

“My place is with you,” he replies eyes on the screen, mouth turned into a frown. “We’re not watching that.”

“Why not?”

 _Because I don’t want to. I hate you, you stupid movie. Anything but this please._ “Because I can’t make jokes about _The Notebook_.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’ll remember them tomorrow,” Arthur returns with a waggle of his eyebrows and cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Walked right into that one didn’t you Merlin?”

“Fine, have it your way.” He sits silently for a moment watching Rachel McAdams fend off the advances of Ryan Gosling and snorts. “Does this mean you’re Allie?”

Arthur snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous Merlin, I can’t paint.”

“Yeah, because _painting_ is what separates the two of you.”

“Painting _and_ he built a house for her.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and fights down the smile that’s threatening to appear. “You inherited a castle – any house I built for you would pale in comparison.”

Arthur nods in agreement; eyes twinkling with the knowledge that if Merlin really wanted to, he could build a castle twice the size in less than a week. “You’re probably right.”

“I did wash your socks though…by hand.” _If that’s not love, I don’t know what is,_ Merlin thinks wrinkling his nose.

Arthur gapes. “In what possible universe can you equate washing socks with building a house?”

Merlin just pats Arthur’s knee. “In mine.”

**...**

He’s just adding the last bag of mulch when a voice comes from behind him. “It’s going to rain.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that plants like water then isn’t it.” He turns to see Arthur looking down at him, eyes slightly unfocussed without his glasses. “Arthur?”

Arthur’s fringe is sticking up in seven different directions. “I don’t like the rain,” he pulls his neck of his robe tighter together and leans in on his cane. “Are you sure the plants like the rain?”

“I’m pretty sure.” Arthur shifts again his eyes growing wide as thunder rumbles above them. “You should go inside.”

“The plants will get wet.” Arthur says. Merlin draws back onto his haunches and begins to gather the stray bags of mulch and potting mix. “You will get wet.”

“That’s okay.” Another crack of thunder sounds, this time accompanied by lightning that leaves Arthur’s eyes wet and his mouth break out into a soft whimper. “You know what, on second thoughts; I’m not a fan thunder.” Another flash illuminates the sky. “Or lightning. Would it be okay if we went inside?”

Pulling himself upright he quickly takes the bags, and runs them over to the truck dumping them into the bed. When he returns to Arthur, he takes his elbow and guides him onto the footpath that leads them to the doors of the centre. Just as the doors close behind them it begins to rain.

“Good thing we came in when we did.”

Silently Arthur’s frightened eyes meet his and Merlin calls out to Susan on shift backing away with his palms up. Arthur just stands there but his breathing becomes faster and his eyes dart across what he believes to be unfamiliar surroundings. Susan ushers Arthur away with a small apology leaving Merlin standing there alone and dirty in the foyer.

**...**

“Why haven’t you asked?”

“Asked you what?” There’s a hacking cough followed by slight wheezing that makes Merlin’s own chest ache. He blames himself for Arthur being on the mend after almost getting pneumonia. He knew it was too cold to have Arthur outside and yet he’d stayed working the garden instead of immediately taking Arthur into the warmth of his room.

“About…” he wiggles his fingers which in hindsight, he realises is quite foolish considering that Arthur died knowing of his magic and still remembers it.

Arthur sips his water and draws his eyes away from his book. “I don’t understand what that wiggling means.”

“Magic.”

Arthur pauses and puts the book in his lap with a frown. “Don’t be foolish Jacob. There’s no such thing as magic.”

It is at this time that Merlin realises that Arthur had been holding the book upside down. His mouth twists downwards and he can’t help but think bitterly, _bet Allie never did that._

**...**

Merlin’s putting in the last little plant using his magic when a voice comes from behind him.

“How are you doing that?”

He jumps, startled and falls onto his hands and knees before looking up at Arthur’s perturbed eyes. The plant falls with a dull thump into the turned soil and Merlin can’t help but wince, _sorry_ , he apologises mentally to the plant.

“I was…it’s nothing…just…”

Arthur doesn’t back away. He and the cane shuffle forward. “Was that…that was magic.”

“I…Arthur, that was-“ The words to dismiss Arthur are at the tip of his tongue but they don’t come out.

Arthur’s blue eyes look at him before he hunches down a little. It’s not quite a whisper, but it’s still quieter than normal, as if he’s afraid to be overheard. “Can you show me?”

Merlin exhales and stutters, “I-you what?”

Arthur takes another step closer, his eyes glued to Merlin’s hands. “Please…” he says quietly. His lip curls. “It’s not like I’d be believed if I told anyone.”

“Um…okay,” Merlin manages. He turns to face Arthur properly and quickly checks to see if anyone is coming in their direction. Quietly under his breath he whispers words that aren’t needed anymore – used more as a source of comfort than for power, and creates the dragon that once adorned the Pendragon crest.

The dragon stretches upwards and unfurls its wings before taking off and flying around Merlin once and then suddenly turning in Arthur’s direction to land in his outstretched hand.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his hand still cupping the delicate little dragon, eyes crinkled with a toothy smile.

Merlin laughs softly, slightly amazed, and creates his own dragon that flaps over and begins to tussle with Arthur’s dragon.

**...**

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this was Arthur’s room.”

The old lady surveys him with something akin to sympathy and his breath catches in his throat refusing to come out. “Are you Jacob?”

“Yes.”

She makes the sign of the cross and clasps her hands together after. Merlin heart somersaults before plunging into an empty pool. “You should talk to Clarissa.”

His voice sounds so loud to his ears but he’s clearly mistaken as the lady asks him to repeat what he’s said. “Where’s Arthur?”

She draws her bathrobe closer into her body as if shielding herself from his mounting grief. “I’m so sorry – as I said, you should talk to Clarissa.”

With heavy steps he takes himself to Clarissa’s office to do just that.

He knocks once and enters before she can call him in.

Everything is confirmed when her face falls and he manages to beat his legs quitting on him by sinking into a chair. “Jacob…”

“What happened?”

“He had a heart attack…it happened in the night, few nights now, he wouldn’t have felt it.”

“That’s good, I mean it’s…he didn’t suffer. I…do you know where he’s…being laid to rest?” She looks at him sadly. “Ah, never mind, stupid question.” Of course, Arthur’s estranged daughter’s probably sorted everything out…already laid him to rest…

“It’s not though.” She hands him a glass of water and a tissue. “Don’t feel bad about not being able to say goodbye. He didn’t…he wasn’t...he didn’t come back at all. I think the last time was about a month and a half ago. He wrote something for you. Said to give it to you when the time was right. I’m guessing he meant now.”

She hands over an envelope, slightly crinkled at the corners – thin, light, _Merlin,_ written on the front by Arthur’s hand.

He stumbles home; eyes wet, nose dripping, hands shaking.

 _Keys_ , his mind supplies helpfully when he stands staring at the lock of his front door. _Need keys to get in…_

His hands shake. The key rattles on its way to sliding in - his fingers clammy and uncooperative when he tries to turn it. He slips in, shuts the door and trudges to his bedroom.

He crawls into bed, shoes still on, clothes slightly damp from the beginnings of rain.

Arthur’s gone.

Arthur died.

A sob escapes, unbidden yet unfought.

Arthur died _alone._

Curled onto his side he opens the envelope and unfolds the piece of paper. Arthur’s unmistakable scrawl covers the page. He doesn’t take in words, just the colour of the ink; the loop of the writing. He pulls the page in close and sniffs it trying to catch any trace of Arthur’s scent. When he pulls back, he catches to little blobs of discoloured, water stained paper. It forces him to begin reading because Arthur had told him; no man was worth his tears.

As he reads, he feels torn between abject failure and immense love, because it becomes apparent that he was worth Arthur’s.

 

_~~Hello Merlin! It’s me Arthur~~ _

_Merlin._

_I’m writing to you in one of my rare moments of lucidity. I hope I get to finish it before I go._

_Merlin, you saw the world with inherit goodness. I know that your naivety diminished as time passed in Camelot and for that I can only apologise for the burden your destiny forced upon you. But Merlin, I don’t regret any of it. ~~Actually, I sometimes regret taking you hunting because I know you didn’t enjoy it (which in part is why I took you in the first place…mostly I took you along because I valued your company). Oh and I really regret shooting the unicorn~~. _

_Your belief in Camelot, that I would not fail never ceased to amaze me. I’m sorry that I was blinded by prejudice…how even after knowing you for so long I flinched away when you told me of your magic – NOT confessed…if you still think back to that day; never term what you did as confession. You committed no crime and did no wrong. _

_Merlin, you are my best friend and you have no idea how much it hurts me, ~~gods Merlin how do you cope? How have you not been driven to madness?~~ to have to leave you again...I fear that you will suffer much more in the long run. But you have more strength than I ever did…_

_If you can, promise me that you’ll tell our story to someone – our real one. Tell them of your bravery, courage, strength. Tell someone how you struggled to change a selfish child into a decent human and hopefully succeeded ~~(the degree to which I changed is arguably subjective)~~. Tell them of how you made a serving girl queen, became the greatest magical being to ever live and became a son to the castle physician. History wasn’t kind to you and you need to correct it. You were never a tool for me to fulfill a destiny and you were more than just an advisor…so much more._

_I hope you can forgive me for my own shortcomings when it came to you and that you find happiness. ~~In the off chance that my memory fails completely~~ I hope to meet you again soon in a time where neither of us will have to look over our shoulders for fear of running out of road to travel on. That being said, if destiny only gives us a moment then I’ll gladly accept that too. _

_If after this letter, my mind closes itself and cuts me off from memories of you…if these are the last moments that I have to recall your presence, know that it is done with the fondest of hearts. When I die, know that I do so willingly, and that my life -regardless of time, length and place- will always be greater for having you in it._

_With all my love,_

_Your extremely chivalrous and handsome ~~oh come on Merlin, allow me this~~ dollop-headed supercilious prat, _

_Arthur._

* * *

 

> _It's sweet when someone remembers every little detail about you, not because you keep reminding them... but because they pay attention. - Bernajoy Vaal  
> _

Early 2007

Merlin takes a deep breath in and walks into the office. His gut twists uncomfortably as catches his appearance in the window. Wide set shoulders, suit jacket pinched slightly at the waist, he’s even tied his hair back – brown, not black anymore… _I look nothing like me,_ he laments but admits that it has to be done.

_Tell our story…_

He takes in another breath and meets his gaze in the window reaffirming that this is the best way to do this. It’s too strange otherwise…

He doesn’t say much at the meeting. Instead he watches the group toss ideas around until it starts getting a little ridiculous and lets his magic out. He gently prods - maybe slightly alter - the room’s thoughts in a certain direction until…

“What do you think about this as their first exchange?” a voice asks. A throat is cleared and then a rough idea is sketched and dialogue is read out. No accents yet, nor a hint of the type of people they want to cast but the words are there…the beginning of their story…

 

_Hey, come on, that's enough._

_What?_

_You've had your fun, my friend._

_Do I know you?_

_Er, I'm Merlin._

_So I don't know you._

_No._

_Yet you called me "friend."_

_That was my mistake._

_Yes, I think so._

_Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass._

* * *

 

Press Release excerpt taken from the 23rd June 2008 from BBC One

> **Merlin's secrets revealed:**
> 
> **Merlin** is a thrilling fantasy drama set to enchant family audiences in a brand new 13-part series on **BBC One** this September.
> 
> Every Saturday night audiences are destined to experience a series of magical adventures, as they follow the unlikely friendship of a would-be wizard (Merlin) and the future King (Prince Arthur)…
> 
> ...The eagerly anticipated series begins long before Arthur becomes King.
> 
> Arthur's father is Uther Pendragon, the tyrannical King of Camelot who has outlawed magic in the mythical city.
> 
> Gaius is the court physician who takes Merlin under his wing and helps guide him with his magical powers.
> 
> It's a rites of passage story which sees Merlin and Arthur on the cusp of adulthood – both on their journey to greatness in a time before history began…

**Author's Note:**

> So end notes: Firstly, in regards to The Notebook bashing, please don't read anything into it. I personally love this movie, it never fails to make me shed a tear :) At the same time, it maybe elicits a little false hope so that was the angle I was trying to go far in regards to Merlin's reaction to the movie. Also apologies for Merlin not coping well with any of this...I wanted to demonstrate the desperation, isolation, anger, guilt...my head-cannon has Merlin pretty much living by himself without much social interaction ever since Arthur died and that's going to leave some kind of emotional impact on a person, magical or not - that's why he's emotionally unstable when it comes to Arthur. Add Arthur's own struggles into the equation and it's not a pretty outcome :(  
> \---
> 
> The title is taken from the end of this quote (Nicholas Sparks - The Notebook): “The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we've found each other. And maybe each time, we've been forced apart for the same reasons. That means that this goodbye is both a goodbye for the past ten thousand years and a prelude to what will come.” 
> 
> Other quotes were from around the internet. 
> 
> Dialogue was taken from Merlin 1X01 - The Dragon's Call
> 
> The transcript of Merlin's BBC Press Release can be found here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/pressreleases/stories/2008/07_july/23/merlin.shtml  
> \---
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it :)


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